


100 Themes Challenge

by brokenlyrium



Category: Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-29
Updated: 2014-10-21
Packaged: 2018-02-15 05:53:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2218257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokenlyrium/pseuds/brokenlyrium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To get myself back into the habit of writing, I'm going to attempt the 100 Themes Challenge, and I've chosen the world of Thedas as my victim. The pairings and stories jump around from game to game. Smut chapters will be labeled.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time really writing my Adaar. She's so childish sometimes, I just love it.
> 
> Fandom: Dragon Age: Inquisition  
> Characters: The Iron Bull and F!Adaar  
> Word Count: 535

The first thing he noticed about her was how she seemed to be in multiple places at once. You could barely walk the room without hearing someone whisper to another about how she introduced herself right away, chittering for only seconds with a person before moving onto the next. If there was one thing the Iron Bull could count on, it was that their newly appointed Inquisitor would have no trouble making herself known around the keep. She was speaking with the scribe girl, Josephine, waving her hands excitedly and coming very close to hitting the poor woman more than once. When the girl stepped back, excusing herself, he could hear her apologies over the crowd before she turned away. Her eyes locked onto him immediately. It was almost a chore to not notice his hulking figure as he towered over the other men in the room, and if his height wasn’t enough his horns certainly were. The Inquisitor made a beeline toward him, easily weaving through the crowd with long legs and swaying hips.

She had light grey skin, almost silver, with shining white hair that fell to her shoulders and curled around her face. Her horns had been shorn off, as the Qun were known to do to saarebas, but they had been capped with gold bands encrusted with emeralds. She had puckered scars around her lips from where the thread had long ago been pulled from her mouth, which was now turned up in a friendly smile. Mostly he noticed her height, how she towered over the others in the same way he did. In fact, standing in front of him, she was nearly as tall as him, barely having to tilt her head back to look at him. The only way he could describe the look on her face was excitement, and maybe a bit of relief. Her eyes, a bright yellow surrounded by black, skimmed over his face, his horns, the rest of him, back to his horns. Realizing she was blatantly staring, she laughed and took a step backwards.

“I apologize,” Her hands once again began working, waving in short, quick circles. “It’s just been so long since I’ve seen another _Tal-Vashoth_. I was beginning to think I was alone here.” she added, looking around at the faces that surrounded them. Some stared almost unabashedly, while others turned away and hid their whispers behind their hands. The realization hit him almost immediately. In a sea of shorter people with exponentially more political power than her, she found in him a friend, a somewhat familiar face at the very least. He couldn’t have stopped the smile that spread on his face even if he tried.

“The Iron Bull, at your command, Inquisitor.” he introduced himself, finishing with a dramatic bow. His horns came dangerously close to clubbing an elf in the face, and the man hurried himself and his partner out of harm's way. But the Inquisitor laughed, replying with a curtsy of her own. She had no skirt to grasp, and settled for the tails of her leather duster, fanning them out and waving them like wings.

“Basa,” she giggled. “Basa Adaar. I do hope I don’t disappoint you.”


	2. Complicated

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fandom: Dragon Age: Origins  
> Characters: Zevran, F!Tabris, Alistair  
> Word Count: 602

"Why haven't you killed me yet?"

Willow wasn't sure how she should react to the smile that spread across the assassin's face. She knew he had expected the question, but maybe that was his cue, as they both trailed behind the group on their way back to camp. Night was beginning to set, the moon hanging low in the sky, but they had a long walk still to their tents, and so their feet kept moving. Although Alistair had expressed more than once his distrust of Zevran, he seemed to be rather unconcerned their leader was speaking privately with him several yards behind the group. Said assassin was now laughing to himself, placing a tawny hand on his hip as he walked. Her eyes shot down to his blade, oh so close, and her own hands moved instinctively.

“I could ask you the same,” came his response. “Or, rather, why didn’t you kill me when I gave you the chance?”

Willow hadn’t expected that—though, her mind told her, she really should have—and chewed on her lip as she thought about it herself. She didn’t really trust him at her back, and neither did she see anything particularly special in him, beyond his skill with knives and locks.

“Our company is so small,” she decided. “We needed the help, so I guess I was just taking it where I could find it.”

He laughed, loudly, enough to cause Alistair to stop and turn toward them. He looked between Willow and the currently preoccupied assassin, his brow furrowed in disapproval. He started walking again only when his fellow Warden gave a small nod that she was in no danger at the moment. He turned his back on them again, but his hand remained on the hilt of his sword. Zevran had finished his giggle fit and added, “Forgive me, but I don’t find that answer to be satisfactory. Perhaps you’ll want to try again?”

Now Willow was irritated. She scowled at him, still walking beside her with that damned grin on his lips and expecting an answer to a question she had original asked him. She took several steady breaths—which only further amused her traveling companion—and tried to think of an answer to satisfy him. He was slowly looking more and more triumphant as the silence continued.

“It’s….” she really didn’t want to say that word, and yet it hung off her lips, leaving an almost bitter taste in her mouth. It was a cheap answer, and yet it seemed to be the one he wanted to hear.

“Complicated?” he offered with a smug look. Willow shrugged, trying to hide her irritation.

“That’s one way to put it.” She wrung her hands together, freed from the sweaty nightmare of her leather gauntlets. Her fingers worried the gold ring on her left hand, its shine dulled by dirt but still a gleaming gold. “I’m just tired of watching people like us die.”

Now he looked confused. “’People like us?’”

“I’m not saying we’re the same or anything,” she said, trying to figure out what she meant. “I just…I’ve seen so my elves die by human hands. I wasn’t about to do the same.” She didn’t want to look at his face, and his continued silence only worried her. “Look, I know what you might be thinking, but in any case, I answered my own question for you, so I think I deserve an answer.” 

He chuckled again, damn him, and quickened his steps. “Complications, my dear Warden,” was his reply, and Willow seriously contemplated placing a well-aimed arrow in his back.


	3. Making History

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Decided to have a little fun with a Prohibition!Au, debuting my first Hawke, Caine.

Aveline hated the smell that seemed to permeate throughout the bar. It was a not-so-merry medley of tobacco smoke, cheap alcohol, and the sweat of every single patron in the speakeasy, most of which were busy dancing with short haired ladies and elves in brightly colored and beaded dresses. A young elf with pale hair and even paler tattoos, was on the stage, swinging into a lighthearted jazz song. 

" _Pack up all my care and woe/Here I go, singing low_."

"Aveline, _darling_!"

Caine appeared seemingly out of nowhere, sporting a dress similar to the ladies dancing, except hers was a deep crimson, the color of blood, with pearlescent gold beads adorning the fabric, and lipstick of the same red color. A matching headband sat on her brow, three large gold feathers sprouting from her left temple. Her orange curls bounced around her shoulders as she ran (as fast as she could run in heels) and embraced her. Aveline went stiff, trying to look professional in front of her newer officers.

"Hawke," she greeted, and the other woman backed away, still holding onto Aveline. She didn't seem to notice her strained tone, or was choosing to ignore it. "I see Fenris is doing quite well for himself."

"Isn't he?" She beamed like a proud mother and turned to where he stood on the stage, snapping his fingers with one hand and holding onto the microphone with the other. He was smiling, the first time Aveline had actually seen him. "He's bringing in the crowds, always so busy in here." She swept her arm to gesture to the full room. "Varric! Drinks for our brothers in blue, please."

The dwarf winked and pulled the frosted glasses from under the bar.

"This isn't a social call, Hawke." she said firmly, shaking her head at him. Varric shrugged, offering the glasses to the newly arrived patrons now frozen at the sight of the three cops standing just in the doorway.

"Nothing is ever 'social' with you, sweetie. I always have to force it." She led her and her guards to a small round table near the back. It was almost quiet enough, and so Aveline reluctantly sank into the plush seated chair. Hawke did the same, crossing her legs and sitting at an angle so she could continue to watch her lover sing. Aveline could see the tip of a dagger in it's sheath just under her skirt. "So how much do I owe you? We're all paid up for this month, so I assume you're asking for more?"

Aveline bit her tongue, trying to keep the scowl from her face. It was always money with thieves and liars and bootleggers, and Caine was all three. It was hard to tell what she was thinking, her mouth set in a tight smile. She pulled a cigarette from the top of her dress and stuck it between her lips. 

"Hawke, I can't keep covering for you. You're getting too bold, all but handing out fliers with the address to this place. My men and I can only ignore this place for so long before people get suspicious."

Caine pulled her skirt higher with the flick of a wrist. "I can handle suspicious people." The still unlit cigarette bounced between her lips.

"But I can't have everyone and their mother in my office demanding I arrest you and just ignore them. Not anymore."

Caine's smile was gone, replaced by a cold indifference. Aveline knew that mask very well. Her hand slid ever so slightly toward her gun.

"You still owe me, Aveline."

Her own face twisted almost into a glare. "I paid you for that."

" _Bye bye, blackbird_."

"Is that how much your precious husband is worth?" Caine was smiling again, but it wasn't the friendly face she'd used before. She finally produced a matchbook and struck one. The fire seemed to burn a million times brighter in the dimly lit club as she lit her cigarette. Caine took a long drag, seeming to enjoy the look on Aveline’s face as she struggled for an answer, lowering her eyes. Curse her honesty. Caine blew a few perfect rings of smoke before turning back to the officer. “Avvy, baby. I love you. I do. You’re like the sister who didn’t betray me.” Aveline’s mind flashed to her last memory of Bethany, fleeing to the Circle with a broad grin. It was the happiest she had ever seen the child. “But I have a purpose here. I have friends and employees and loyal customers to protect. That protection will come at any cost.”

She snapped her fingers, and Aveline raised her gaze from her lap to Caine’s face. She held one hand in the air between them, fist still clenched. The other held her cigarette, the end still burning red. Caine was all business now, any trace of friendliness gone. 

“ _Any. Cost_.” 

Aveline bit her tongue, trying to show even a bit of dignity. She liked Caine well enough, personal debts and her own humiliation in front of her men aside, and while she and the force hated to admit it, having someone willing enough to rat out any crook and criminal they were looking for was worth whatever they had to pay. Which included ignoring the problem she was creating to draw in a larger crowd. When she didn’t argue, her friend smiled again and took another drag on her cigarette. She stood, smoke trailing from her nose and mouth and following her upward as she stepped around Aveline’s guards and put an arm around her shoulders. 

“Life could not be better. Prohibition is in full swing. My cellars are stocked. And my singer, Aveline, _my singer_. The crowds have doubled since I put him on stage. I have so much money I ought to have a dress made from it.” She laughed. “We’re making history here, sweetie. Don’t ruin it for me.” She placed a kiss on Aveline’s cheek, no doubt leaving a red print, and reached forward to tamp out her barely touched cigarette. She dropped that hand to Aveline's, still resting on her gun. “Be safe on your way back. No good folk ever come around here.”


End file.
